If I Don’t Trip & Fall & Drop Things, Am I Still Alive?
I tripped on myself and fell into the mailbox, taking it — post and all, down to the ground with me. This was yesterday morning in front of my work building. Luckily, nobody was around to witness, otherwise we’d have to go home in shifts to change our urine soaked drawers.
My own drawers were covered in road with scuffed pant, sock and shoe.
“I don’t know what part would’ve been enjoyed more to the observer, the fall — or me hoisting the post back up and stomping the ground around it to keep it half standing.”
My co-worker, unsuccessfully hiding her dismay for missing the footage,
“You’re pinky finger’s bleeding.”
“Now I’ll definitely have to go home.”
The damage to my body consists of small cuts, scrapes, and knots to the top of my left foot, ankle and lower leg. Also, my left pinky finger.
Fortunately, the damage to my dignity on this occasion is minor. For me.
Although I can appreciate my co-workers' imagination, not having the exact visual for replay is far more favorable. I admit to being one of those people who continue to laugh beyond the appropriate laugh threshold. I’ve had to excuse myself and find a bathroom or dark corner to gleefully wheeze in.
